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Sonora his rudeness disapproval frown.
    â€œSeven.” Van Hoose handed Sonora a computer printout. “This is a list of the calls she made. And here are the messages, never picked up.”
    Sonora looked it over, followed Sam as he said thanks and moved away from the desk. One of the numbers seemed familiar.
    Sonora looked up at Sam. “We got your public library. A bunch from Winchell. Return a call to what looks to be another room in the hotel.” Sonora went back to the desk clerk. “That what this is? One of the other rooms?”
    He nodded.
    â€œLook that up, why don’t you, and let me know who was staying in that room at the time the call was made.”
    Van Hoose hesitated. But they were the police after all. He went to his computer.
    Sam drummed his fingers on the counter. Sonora laid her hand over his to make him stop.
    â€œThe call came from a Mr. Jeffrey Barber in room three-twenty-seven.”
    â€œChecked out when?”
    â€œJuly sixteenth, on a Sunday.” He handed Sonora a slip of paper. “This is the name, address, phone number, and plate number he filled out for registration.”
    Sonora smiled. “We may have to hire you, Van Hoose.”
    â€œWhat’s your procedure when a guest disappears?” Sam asked.
    Van Hoose shifted his weight to his left foot. A bone popped in his hip. “We check the credit, and if the card’s good, we keep the room a while.”
    â€œHow long?” Sonora asked.
    â€œHonestly? It’s a management call. Depends on the guest’s credit and how bad we need the room.”
    Sam patted the desk. “Okay, thanks.”
    Sonora followed him through the lobby, to the elevators. Punched four.
    â€œThey got free breakfast with the room here,” Sam said.
    â€œVery important,” Sonora agreed, closing her eyes. She leaned against the back wall of the elevator, which stopped at the second floor to let in two couples, freshly bathed, perfumed, pantyhose and heels.
    Sonora wondered what Smallwood was doing tonight. Probably not working.
    The elevator stopped. Sonora got the rat-in-a-maze feeling brought on by hotel corridors.
    She gave Sam a look out of the corner of one eye. “You seem to know your way around this place.”
    â€œThis is where I bring my women. They like that river view and I like the breakfast.”
    Julia Winchell’s suite had that hotel air of maid service around clutter. It opened onto a sitting room: TV, desk, table and chairs. Hunter green couch. There was a bar with a coffeepot and small refrigerator. The room was freshly dusted and vacuumed, pillows plumped. Stacks of paper, books, and a small, open briefcase crowded the top of the desk.
    Sonora gave the couch a second, wistful look. Her dog Clampett had chewed up the cushion on the one in her living room, and it left a trail of stuffing every time someone sat down.
    She peeped into the bedroom. The bed was made, and a teddy had been neatly folded on the ridge of pillows that stretched across the king-size mattress.
    Sonora picked it up. Smelled the wave of sweet flowery scent, fingered the soft black silk, admired the spaghetti straps that crisscrossed along the back.
    She heard Sam whistle as he opened and closed the tiny refrigerator behind the bar.
    â€œOld pizza,” he shouted.
    â€œSave me a piece.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œLook in the bathroom, Sam. Count the toothbrushes.”
    His steps were heavy in the hallway. Sonora knew he could walk lightly if he wanted to. She’d heard him do it once or twice.
    He put his head in the bedroom doorway. “Two. Both dry as a bone.”
    Sonora waved the teddy. “I guess she wasn’t just here for the riverfront view.”
    â€œPoor son of a bitch.”
    â€œI assume you mean the husband. Who now has a very good motive.”
    â€œKeeps us in business.”
    Sonora headed for the dresser drawers, wondering if Julia Winchell was the kind of